Curiosity of a Fool
by SorrowfulReincarnation
Summary: The Astral Clock ticks overhead, calling out her perpetual decay. And although she has taken her final breath long ago, the nightmare has yet to end. The flow of time never stops, the river of memories is a long one, and she is only nearing the final stretch. At last, for the mind can only take so much before it breaks, and she's long passed that point. Curiosity was her downfall.


**Curiosity of a fool**

Click. Then silence for sixty seconds. It's always the same. Had always been.

For how long? That was too hard to tell. She hadn't kept track of the clicking that echoed through the tower every full minute, nor the ringing of the bell every full hour, had given up on counting it ages ago. Time meant nothing for someone who had nothing left to live for, a hollow shell full of nothing but doubts and regrets. For something – not even someone – that desired nothing more but death itself, an end to all the suffering.

Which didn't mean that she had never wondered just how much time had passed since her self-imposed isolation, and what had happened outside the tower since she had slumped down into this chair, only to never once move again. Outside of this nightmare, of this curse that had befallen them all, which she had fled into willingly.

It was a punishment for them all and the sins they had committed, fascinated and consumed by the hunt, by the stench of blood and the desire to draw even more. The punishment for not stopping when it got out of hand, always craving for more murder, for bigger targets, until they had hunted even the beings considered gods. Until the hunt had become nothing but mindless slaughter, genocide.

They all got their punishment for it – only had she not resisted when it had called. One by one, the hunters that had sinned had been drawn into the nightmare, but she had been the only one to cast away her tool of murder, spread her arms wide and walk into the darkness as it fell over the land. Not once had she feared what punishment she'd get, not once had she hesitated or regretted this decision – the only right one she had ever made.

She was the first that had been consumed, the one that fell into the deepest depths of the nightmare, down to its very heart. Her punishment was the most severe, a hollow existence forced to use that which she abhorred – the blood of Cainhurst that flew through her veins – as the guardian of the hunters' sins and the location that _it_ had taken place at.

Behind her meaningless shell, beyond the giant astral clock of the tower, only accessible with the Celestial Dial she held as part of her punishment, was the Fishing Hamlet. There, it lay, the most severe of their sins, its very embodiment – the corpse of Kos, killed in the wrath, greed and gluttony of the hunters.

And she had been the only one to ever regret, to question their actions. No longer could she hold the weapon she had once meant to protect humanity with, now nothing more than a tool of murder, without feeling disgusted by herself and that which she had become. That was why she had willingly accepted the punishment and walked into the nightmare.

Now, as she felt herself slowly slip away, she could feel it growing inside herself. The beast. Soon, it would take control, and she wouldn't even attempt to stop it. And what would become of her then, she didn't even care about.

Maybe she'd become like Ludwig, her body morphing into the horrendous image of the beasts they had once hunted. Having been the first to go into it and the one to walk to the very core of the nightmare, she had never seen him herself, the thing he had become, but she had heard of it.

Maybe she'd be more like Father Gascoine, never in full control of her actions, while staying human in appearance. As with the Ludwig or any of the other hunters punished by the curse, she hadn't seen him herself, but the extent of his actions had made it all the way to the very core of the curse, where she sat slumped over, suffering in complete isolation and accompanied only by the sounds of the clocktower and that which she had never wanted to possess. Waiting for it all to end one day. Into all eternity.

Another click. The sound of gears turning high above her.

Then, to her own surprise, a twitch of her own lifeless body. Ever so slight, only the erratic movement of a finger, a jolt that went through her before it was once again unmoving, chest not even heaving under the slightest of breaths – if she even was breathing anymore, she couldn't tell.

She shouldn't be breathing, hoped she wasn't, but knew that this wish was as pointless as it could be, considering she was still conscious. And that despite the fact that her throat had been slit long ago, at the peak of her disgust for herself, with the very weapon resting against her chair, and that by her own hands in the vain attempt to escape all of it once and for all.

The hands of the lifeless shell her body was, from which her vile blood was still dripping onto the ground, never once coagulating. The very blood she detested, and had once turned her back to – was it the reason she couldn't die, no matter how much she wished for it?

Was it her own accursed blood, or was it the curse itself, that was preventing her to escape the torture and slip away once and for all? Oh, how she wished she could tell, but alas, even if she could, there was no way to rid herself of it, especially not her blood.

It was the blood of Cainhurst, after all, and not just that of any citizen, but the vile one of the nobles that she was distantly related to.

Cainhurst, the place she was born at, and the place she loathed. Just how much time had passed since then, and since she's turned her back on it and its ways? Although born in relation to the nobles and even distantly to Annalise, the Queen of the Vilebloods herself, she had never desired to possess the extravagant control of the blood that Cainhurst relished in, and wasn't fond of the blood blades – and now, the punishment was forcing her to use them, the blood of Cainhurst that flew through her veins, and the offending cheap copy of her once beloved weapon, warped in the aspect of blood.

Having turned her back on Cainhurst, she had chosen to become a huntress as one of the first to join the nightly hunt, following Gehrman, the first hunter. Her mentor. Until the very end. Until the slaughter at Fishing Hamlet. Until she turned her back once more, this time on the hunt, and embraced the punishment and the Hunter's Nightmare.

Each of these events had been hard on her and had changed her in ways she had never imagined before.

But one thing had always remained the same, no matter where she had been, no matter how old she had been, no matter what situation she had been in.

She had been a fool led by curiosity, and that to the very end.

And what good had it done her? None. Cause this was where it had led her to, this was the point everything in her life had led up to – becoming a hollow shell weighed down by her own sins. By all the wrong decisions she had made.

And what a life it had been. What a horrible one. Although she had never really seen it as such before the slaughter at Fishing Hamlet, reflecting now, at the point that was undeniably the end, she could see it.

That her life had, from being born a noble of Cainhurst until where she was at that very moment, been one constant descent.

Up until she had chosen the life of a huntress, dedicating every breathing moment to slaying the beasts that threatened humanity, she had only existed to fulfill expectations. Master the art of blood, learn to wield the blood blades, protect Annalise. Never bring any shame to your family, lest you wanted to be excommunicated and forever denied of ever having existed.

It wasn't that she didn't like Annalise. If anything, her distant relative had possibly been the person she had enjoyed being around the most, more so than even her mentor Gehrman later in her life. Annalise had been the only thing that she had ever regretted leaving behind when she chose that this wasn't the life she wanted.

What life she had truly wanted, however, she hadn't really known until the hunt began. Until she had first heard of the man from Yharnam that had noticed the threat of the beasts and started to fight them back – Gehrman, the first of all hunters.

Something about this had intrigued her back then, about the hunt and about the older man. About making your own choices and decisions, following a path into the wilderness, away from the cities and into the territory of the beasts. With the own life on the line, seeking only to drive back the monsters and regain the world, allowing safe travel and freedom.

It was what she had always wanted, freedom. And it was, for the first time, the curiosity that drove her to follow it. To abandon Cainhurst, and follow Gehrman out into the hunt. Into a life where she wasn't weighed down by how others had planned her life out for her.

Perhaps this explained the first decision she had ever made on her own after leaving Cainhurst behind – choosing a weapon that required skill and dexterity, the Rakuyo she grew to love, rather than the blood blades she'd been forced to use every day in and out.

And so, she joined Gehrman on the hunt and studied under him. And although this once again meant to live up to someone else's expectations, she didn't mind this time. Having him train her in the use of the Rakuyo wasn't anything as unpleasant as being taught in the use of the blood blades, and she even began to enjoy it as her Rakuyo crossed the Burial Blade of Gehrman.

He was a composed and very devoted mentor, and though urging her to go beyond her limits and improve much like her former mentors, sincerely only wanted the best for her.

And yet, also was a terrible fool, desiring something he couldn't have.

Yes, she had been aware of the affection he held for her, more than he should have. More than that which a mentor had for its protégé. More than even a lover held for his beloved – it was an obsession that the older man had with her, and while he certainly had been anything but skilled in his interactions with the gentle sex and in portraying his feelings, she still had caught on to it.

And though she had never reciprocated these feelings, feeling nothing but that she admired him greatly, she had never blamed him for having had these feelings. Had never deemed him a creep or anything less than a gentleman.

But had always felt that he would never be more than a mentor to her. And he had never been.

And though aware that this would drive him mad – even more than he already was – she hadn't ever regretted this choice.

Nor had she regretted the choice to join the Hunt, although she began to doubt it as time passed. As the hunt began to change, and she slowly became aware of just how much. Of the things it drove her to do, how it manipulated her with the alluring thing that curiosity was, outsmarting her own free will with it.

How feeble it was, this free will of hers. Underdeveloped, undernourished like a prisoner kept deep below the earth, away from the sun, fed only with dry bread and few drops of water.

But who could blame her? She had only started to follow this own free will, had only gotten to know that she had it, and easily mistook curiosity for a decision made in right mind.

The hunt lured her, her and the other hunters, made them no better than the beasts they were hunting. For her, it was the curiosity – the hunt, it opened the prisoner's cell and handed it wine and the finest of meals, told it there would be more if they only were to follow it.

But for the prisoner, who had never eaten anything like it, it took a long while before he realized that the wine was poisoned, and the food rotten. Almost too long. It took him a sample of what he'd truly been given, without the illusion of it being finest wine and meal.

It took him a taste of poison and decay.

And for her, this had been the pinnacle of the hunt's decadence – the slaughter at Fishing Hamlet. The death, the slaughter and murder, of Kos. Of a being beyond their comprehension, of otherworldly beauty and transcendent presence.

It lifted the veil from her eyes that had blinded her for the longest time. As the other hunter's stood proudly above their prey, feasting their eyes on the scene of gore, so disgustingly proud of their 'achievement', she had turned and looked back.

There was nothing glorious or righteous about what she saw.

The buildings were burning, a village in ruins, bodies of human and beast alike paved the streets. Of fallen comrades, of villagers, of families. Of innocent people and monsters alike.

For the first time, she had felt truly sick about it. About the hunt, about the truth she had failed to see, about herself. Sometime along the way, over the years that had passed since escaping the clutches of Cainhurst, both the hunt and she herself had strayed from the path.

She had only been too blind to see.

But that was no longer the case after that. After she collapsed and hurled right then and there. Right after that and only moments before the darkness, the curse, broke free of the corpse of Kos and fell over the land, she had made another choice, and a drastic one.

She had found the deepest and darkest well in Fishing Hamlet, and had cast away her Rakuyo. Her dearly beloved Rakuyo, thrown down a well so that no one – and especially not her – would ever use it again. And especially not her, with her tainted hands.

The Rakuyo as a weapon made for those with skill and dexterity, and as such was made for those with righteous intentions. And how could she any longer claim to have such intentions with what she had done?

That was why she had never struggled as, only moments later, the curse fell over the land.

She had been standing at the well when it had happened, alerted by the sounds of screaming. Turning back to where the corpse of Kos lay in that secluded bay just outside Fishing Hamlet, the first thing she'd seen were the weaker hunters, fleeing for their dear life, screaming.

And beyond them, tearing through the already clouded sky, turned gray by the ash and the smoke, had been the curse, the darkness. The chilling grasp of darkness, extending at a pace that couldn't be outrun, that couldn't have been stopped.

Fleeing was in vain, even though Gehrman screamed at her to do exactly that when he, Father Casgoine, Ludwig and the other powerful hunters emerged from the bay.

But she didn't run. Saw no purpose in it, no sense beyond prolonging the inevitable.

The prisoner, having learned that the life he'd been offered was even worse than the prison he'd been taken from, wanted nothing more than to go back to his little cell and suffer the punishment for being the fool that it was, led by curiosity.

When everyone ran from their sin, Lady Maria didn't. Spread her arms wide, no longer carrying her tool of murder and only the sins that rested so heavily on her shoulders, weighing her down, and paced towards it. Deep into the darkness. Deep into punishment.

She had accepted – and Kos' curse accepted her in return. Kos, although dead in their mortal plane of existence, had felt her sincere regret and had tasted her curiosity.

Thus, her punishment was the most severe.

And that was how it all came down to this moment. A moment that all her life had led up to, all the decisions that had been made for her and all these that she had made herself.

But they all no longer mattered. For now, it was over. A terrible life had come to an end. Her terrible life had come to an end.

At the point of meaninglessness, where all life was drained from her body and left nothing but a hollow shell that not even the curiosity that had driven her for most of it could animate.

Click. The clock moves once more, but it isn't silence that follows. It's the bell of the tower, chiming – another full hour has passed, like it has done so often.

Only this time, everything is different.

Finally, just as the bell falls dead silent, the heavy doors to the Astral Clocktower open. The sound echoes throughout the tower as the gigantic metal doors scrape over the floor, but it sounds dull and far away in the ears of her body, tired of life.

Then, she enters, a huntress. _The_ Huntress. Clad in black that contrasted with the paleness of her skin, dark eyes scanning the room warily, crimson hair spilling out from underneath her cap in one straight braid at the back.

Maria knows that this is the one. She can feel it, the way that the accursed vile blood in her cold and lifeless body starts flowing again after having been in a complete motionlessness for god knows how long. For a last time, life returns to her hollow shell, once more pulling her into the unholy existence she'd longed to escape.

Finally, the sweet release was within reach.

This Huntress would be the one to change it all, and yet Maria feels nothing. No excitement at the prospect of release, no hope that this truly is the one to bring the terrible Hunter's Nightmare to an end. Just nothing.

She's long bled out, emotionally. Inside, she had achieved what her body couldn't, had embraced death.

But there is one thing that's there, and it grows as the Huntress approaches her slumped over shell cautiously. It's not a feeling. It's not even herself feeling it – it's her body. It's a routine, something she had done so often that it had become natural to the point where her body had memorized it perfectly without the need for a mind.

It's like a desire, but much more primal. And as the Huntress stands before her and examines her, it's so strong that it defies the dead state of her mind. Death-defying, it takes over, and Maria finds herself wondering if it's the beast she felt growing inside.

But it isn't, and she knows it. It's something that desires the bloodshed even more than any beast ever could.

It's the hunt, calling out to her a last time.

And she knows what this means, and gives in. Let it take full control of her body like she's a marionette. Like she had been her entire life, always controlled by something – first expectations, then curiosity, then regret. And just like she's always had a purpose, there's one this time as well.

To fulfill the role that the curse had given her, to guard the terrible secret, the sin that all of this had spawned from. To give into her punishment the final time before it all comes to an end.

That's when she feels it. A resonance deep inside, just as the Huntress carefully reaches out to touch her. It's within, but it isn't the curse or the hunt. It's the last sliver of humanity she had left, the last trace of her mind that had refused to wither away in the face of time.

Then, it melds into her body's desire, for they want the same, albeit for different reasons. And though she still feels dead inside, void of anything but this particular feeling, it's strong. It burns, like the flame that life had once been.

And though it is her body that suddenly lashes out on its own and grips down on the Huntress' wrist to pull her closer, consciousness is what brings forth a final thought. A last, pathetic desire that could only be born from the mind of a fool.

In remembrance of her master, of the man she had always felt great admiration for, she makes a last decision – the mistakes of the past had to be avoided. One had to learn from them. And if not from their own, then from those of someone else.

Even if it was finally her time to go, the end of the punishment, there was one last thing that she could pass on.

To not give into the curiosity.

"A corpse..." she whispers, dead eyes focused on the face of the Huntress that was only inches from her own, the dark eyes, "...should be left well alone."

Slowly, she lets go of the Huntress' hand, lets her back away – but her hand, it follows that of the Huntress for as long as possible, craving the touch and the warmth of the living, even through their gloves.

"Oh, I know very well." Her body moves by itself yet again as the words leave her mouth, movements slow, yet not sluggish despite the long time it had remained in the same position. Almost as if it had done it a thousand times, her right hand slides along armrest of her chair and finds the weapon she was forced to wield, the cheap copy of her beloved Rakuyo warped in the image of the vile blood she's hated all life long. And she felt it running through her veins, the same vile blood, craving to be used. And she would have to. Her personal curse, bound to the weapon and the blood until the end. "How the secrets beckon so sweetly."

Her tired shell rose from the ancient wooden chair, the fool's throne, cursed weapon in hand. Blood dripped down from her left hand again as her body steps forward, out of the puddle of scarlet that had accumulated after her attempt at cutting her own throat.

The Huntress reacts, alerted now, and backs away even further, one hand slowly moving towards her own weapon. But Maria pays it no mind, had none left to care, and her body had not enough awareness by itself to realize it. Soon enough, it would dodge perfectly as it used to in the past, she could already feel the routine taking over.

For it was routine that lifted the warped Rakuyo in front of her and that had her stepping further towards the Huntress, and nothing else. And it was routine that put the hollow body's second hand onto the hilt as well and slowly turned it – left hand away from her, right hand towards her.

"Only an honest death will cure you now." The Rakuyo split apart, her body falling into the stance it had been in countless times. But it didn't feel right. The weapon didn't feel right. May it look like her beloved blade as much as it wants, it wasn't and she would never accept it as such. Even the vessel that had once contained a mind, her body, wouldn't, rejected it. "Liberate you, from your wild curiosity..."

Slowly, the Huntress that had intruded the heart of the nightmare pulled her own blade, and had Maria had any mind left, she would've laughed at the terrible irony as she saw that the weapon of choice of her savior was a Chikage, the very same blood blades from Cainhurst that she had avoided her entire life long and had escaped from when she had chosen to follow Gehrman into the night.

A punishment this was, until the very end.

Soon, the warped weapon she'd been cursed with would pierce her own flesh and draw out the vile blood she had never wanted to use again, and it would light aflame as it was taught to her in the times before she'd had a free will.

And then, soon, the pointlessness of her being and the suffering would come to an end once and for all, and she'd be released into the void, the freedom she'd been craving for many years of her hollow existence. Finally, she'd be allowed to close her eyes and be granted the true and honest death that would cure her. Freed from the terrible Hunter's Nightmare.

But there could be something good born from all this. From the greed of the hunters, the curse of Kos and the terrible Hunter's Nightmare, and even if dead inside, she wouldn't give up on it. This Huntress, the one that had made it all this way through the very darkness itself and the horrors born from human's petty and selfish desires, would be her legacy. She would prevent this all from repeating, stop the endless cycle it was threatening to become.

She would do what Maria couldn't her entire life long, to this very moment that her mind was withering away and merely her body remained.

For she, Lady Maria, was a fool to the very end, curious as she was about the Huntress even then, though knowing better.

Curiosity was the fool's downfall.

* * *

 _And that, my dear hunters and huntresses, is the tale I've meant to tell._

 _The tale of a woman led astray by the curiosity after finally escaping the golden cage she'd been trapped in since birth, only longing to be free from expectations and decisions made for her. And although this was the right choice to be made, it also led her down a path no better when she failed to realize when to stop._

 _I freaking love Bloodborne and the Dark Souls series, and in the former case my favorite character just happens to be Lady Maria – while many boss fights in either series have impressed me greatly, only very few have done so in the manner that Lady Maria has._

 _It's the kind of boss I like the most – one that tests your skills by utilizing very similar abilities to the ones you have. Add some flashy effects, different phases, some really interesting lore, a morbid ability and some really epic music, and you'll have me absolutely happy. All of which Lady Maria has._

 _But it isn't always just that. Dark Souls and Bloodborne have some very sophisticated lore that ties the world together, but they don't simply tell you – you've got to explore, roam the world, meet people, bosses and monster, learn from and about them, gather their belongings and remains, and piece the dots together. That all makes the world feel very complete and interesting, opposed to some bland old story-telling (although that is far from bad) – and a bit more realistic, perhaps, if you ask me. After all, you don't go outside and are told everything at about just the right time, right? There are cases where you'll learn things from the unlikeliest of sources and places, often without expecting it or looking for it, and quite a few things you have to figure out with what you already know. And then, there's the decisions you'll have to make, often with consequences you couldn't have foreseen._

 _Another example of why I love the series so much is that some really lore-heavy or important characters aren't introduced through flashy scenes of epic proportions, just like in real life – Quelaana of Izalith in Dark Souls 1, so easily missed in Blighttown. Ciaran in the Prepare to Die DLC, mourning at the grave of her beloved. Especially the latter holds a special place in my heart, although her appearance is only a minor one and easily missed unless you know where to return at what point. And her request is a chilling one._

 _Overall, I'm a big fan of the series – but sadly do not possess a PS4, meaning I never really got to play Bloodborne myself. Also currently saving for DS3, but as I will be able to play it, I'm not going to spoil myself – I have some plans for DS3, and it requires that I don't know too much. Or anything at all, really._

 _Now, before we leave off here, some people that have been around before this story may wonder one thing – on my profile, unlike most other planned updates, this one had a set release date, and I've been working on it one month prior to ensure it would be finished and beta-read that day._

 _Why the 24_ _th_ _November for this one, you may ask, knowing that I only set special one-shots on special dates that have some kind of meaning for the story._

 _The answer is: Bloodborne's "The old Hunters DLC" was released exactly one year ago on the 24_ _th_ _November 2015, which just happens to be my birthday. It was less about the latter, but it still made writing this even more special to me._

 _And hopefully to you as well._

 _So thank you very much for reading this, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it._

 _And well, you never know – perhaps I'll be back in the future with a story like this. Perhaps not for Bloodborne, but Dark Souls 3, which I have yet to play and discover the lore of?_

 _But no matter if you'll stick around or not, or I'll return for more like this, as usual..._

 _...So long!_


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